98& 


575    70S 


GIFT  OF 


I 

I 


A  New  Book 

by  a 
Well  Known  Author 


TWO  PLAYS  and  a  RHAPSODY 

By  KATHARINE  HOWARD 

AUTHOR  OF  "CANDLE  FLAME,"  "EVE,"  THE  BOOK  OF  THE  SERPENT,"  ETC. 


This  book  is  made  in  three  handsome  bindings,  selling  at  60,  75c 
and  $1.  All  three  are  printed  from  the  same  type,  a  clear,  large  letter, 
on  beautiful  deckle  edge  paper.  They  may  be  had  directly  from  the 
author  by  addressing  Katharine  Howard,  San  Diego,  California. 


Katharine  Howard,  poet  and  mystic,  jpresents  in  her  latest  published  work, 
a  strictly  San  Diego  product.  Not  only  that,  but  the  writer  herself  is  the  pub 
lisher.  In  the  months  this  well-known  author  has  been  making  this  city  her  home, 
she  has  completed  several  characteristic  works,  and  now  in  the  issuing  of  "Two 
Plays  and  a  Rhapsody,"  just  off  the  press,  she  successfully  assumes  the  title  of 
author-publisher. 

The  artistic  little  volume,  which  is  from  the  Watson-Jones,  Inc.,  print  shop, 
is  dedicated  to  the  writer's  sister,  Charlotte.  It  brings  out  quite  another  vein  in 
Mrs.  Howard's  creative  ability,  striking  strongly  the  note  which  has  earned  her 
the  title  i$  literary  circles  in  the  East  and  abroad  of  the  "sane  mystic."  The  two 
plays,  "The  House  of  Future,"  and  "The  House  of  Life,"  were  inspired  in 
widely  different  surroundings — the  first  being  done  while  sojourning  in  the  ancient 
forest  above  the  Castle  of  Chillon,  in  Switzerland ;  and  the  second  on  the  coast  of 
Brittany  in  France.  All  three  were  written  abroad,  the  Rhapsody  being  composed 
during  Whitsuntide  in  Florence,  Italy.  The  compilation  and  publication  in  San 
Diego  marks  a  new  period  in  the  literary  activities  of  this  prominent  exponent  of 
the  present-day  interest  in  verse  form  and  the  symbolic  in  literature. 

In  Katharine  Howard's  mysticism  as  revealed  in  this  group,  the  "things  of 
the  spirit"  come  very  close.  They  bathe  with  a  light  of  wider  understanding  the 
life  of  the  every-day,  in  which  such  things  as  the  great  fundamentals,  the  tre 
mendous  motives  animating  a  world  existence,  are  apt  to  become  with  familiarity 
the  matters  of  daily  routine  in  the  lives  of  the  humans  through  which  they  are 
operating. 

In  "The  House  of  Future"  one  feels  strongly  the  power  of  the  unseen 
and  the  interpretation  of  the  types  of — shall  we  say  "soul,"  is  handled  with  a 
keenness  of  vision  that  opens  vistas  through  too  often  closed  doors.  Her  conception 
of  the  woman,  the  wife  and  mother,  is  exquisitely  tender  in  its  understanding,  a 
sweet  and  wistful  soul  who  bears  the  burdens  and  cherishes  the  ideals  of  woman. 
The  wise  old  nurse,  her  companion,  the  hunter  husband  away  in  the  world,  the 


bright  spirits  of  the  two  children  and  Death,  the  master  of  the  house,  all  convey  a 
poignant  symbolic  message. 

"The  House  of  Life,"  a  shorter  and  earlier  play,  is  an  allegorical  impression 
of  the  restless  passing  of  life,  following  the  wanderings  of  the  two,  man  and 
woman,  through  rooms  and  corridors,  with  their  varied  experiences,  and  in  the 
end,  the  peaceful  waiting  on  the  roof,  with  the  star-studded  heavens  inviting  them. 

The  poet  and  the  mystic  combine  in  the  creation  of  this  group  of  plays  and 
the  closing  Rhapsody,  in  which  Mrs.  Howard  epitomizes  her  own  work,  as  she 
describes  the  vision  of  the  poet  in  his  search  for  the  spirit  of  Eternal  Youth. — "He 
grew  a  keener  vision — he  saw  halos  around  the  heads  of  mothers  and  their 
children — and  wings  that  drooped  from  shoulders  of  young  maidens — and  youths 
who  wore  their  swords  of  destiny  sheathed  on  in  chastity.  Deep  in  the  eyes  of  old 
men,  he  could  read  the  broader  knowledge  which  they  had  of  life — the  gracious 
charity  and  insight  which  their  years  had  given  them  in  judging  the  affairs  of 
youth." — By  Daisy  Kessler  Bierman,  in  San  Diego  Union. 


TWO  PLAYS  AND  A  RHAPSODY  "MADE  IN  SAN  DIEGO." 

The  day  devoted  to  San  Diego  authors  at  the  exposition  last  week  over 
whelmed  the  uninitiated  citizen  with  a  realization  of  the  number  of  dramatists, 
poets  and  short  story  writers  who  are  living  and  writing  here  today.  It  is  very 
seldom,  however,  that  a  book  from  the  pen  of  one  of  them  is  printed  and  pub 
lished  in  San  Diego  as  well.  Mrs.  Katharine  Howard,  of  New  York,  who  has 
lived  nearly  a  year  with  us  and  whose  subtle  and  exquisite  plays,  poems  and 
satires  are  well  known  among  the  more  esoteric  readers,  has  achieved  in  one  of  our 
own  printing  houses  a  book  which,  in  distinction  of  type,  tone  and  makeup,  sug 
gests  the  Mosher  Press,  the  Caxton  Club  or  the  Brothers  of  the  Book.  It  is  called 
"Two  Plays  and  a  Rhapsody."  Both  "The  House  of  Future"  and  the  "The  House 
of  Life"  suggest  Maeterlinck  in  their  fateful  symbolism  and  the  stateliness  and 
solemnity  of  their  lines.  Mrs.  Howard  can  never  use,  however,  the  ghostly  gray 
monotone  of  a  Maeterlinck  setting.  "The  House  of  Future"  is  like  a  rich  old  me 
dieval  tapestry  with  its  scenes  in  the  forest,  the  rose  garden  and  the  blue  loggia, 
and  such  colorful  lines  as — 

"Again  that  torture  chamber  where  all  the  floor  was  golden  with  my  hair," 
— and — 

"Those  shining  piled-up  clouds." 

Even  in  the  echoing  corridors  of  "The  House  of  Life"  one  comes  to  the 
"pleasant  window  seat"  and  "cushions  that  are  soft."  The  sittings  are  those  of 
the  poet,  and  there  is  a  thrill  of  hope  ending  all  the  frightening  mystery  and  terror 
of  the  allegory — 

"I  see  a  star Look!  There  are  many  stars." 

— Althea  Warren,  Librarian  of  San  Diego  Public  Library. — In  San  Diego  Sun. 


* 


WATSON-JONES,  INC.  PRINTERS 


TWO  PLAYS 

and  a 

RHAPSODY 


KATHARINE  HOWARD 

Author  of  "The  Book  of  the  Serpent,"  "Eve,"  Etc. 


Third  Edition 


PUBLISHED  BY  THE  AUTHOR  AT 

SAN  DIEGO,  CALIFORNIA 
1916 


./>, 


*-  / 


I 


TO 
MY  SISTER  CHARLOTTE 


349125 


COPYRIGHT  1916 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 
In  Thirteen  Scenes 

Written  in  the  ancient  forest  above  the 
Castle  of  Chillon,  1911. 

PLACE 

The  Imagination 
No  Time  —  No  Plot 

CHARACTERS 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 
THE  LORD 

YNIDE  AND  YNIAL — Their  Children. 

THE  OLD  NURSE 

THE  MASTER  OF  THE  HOUSE 

— Some  may  call  his  name  Death  and  some 
may  call  his  name  Life — 


SCENE  FIRST 

An  ancient  forest.  A  man  and  a  woman, 
both  young,  are  walking  slowly.  They  are 
followed  by  the  old  nurse  of  the  young 
woman. 

THE  WOMAN 

This  wood  is  full  of  mystery.  Do  you 
remember  the  fairy  tale  about  the  Princess 
who  slept  a  hundred  years,  and  how  the 
Prince  awoke  her  with  a  kiss  ?  I  think  all 
women  are  like  that,  they  sleep  until  the 
kiss  awakes  them.  Do  you  remember  how 
she  followed  him  through  all  the  World, 
as  I  would  follow  you? 

THE  MAN 

One  must  follow  something — as  one 
star  wanes  another  brightens. 

THE  WOMAN 

Once  you  followed  me.  What  do  you 
follow,  now  that  I  follow  you? 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  MAN 

Always  the  thing  most  beautiful.  There 
is  something  which  calls  me  on. 

THE  WOMAN 

I  also.  There  is  a  voice  I  hear  that  calls 
me  to  high  places. 

HE 

You  do  not  understand. 

SHE 
Can  you  not  teach  me? 

HE 

No — Woman  is  like  a  bird,  it  is  but  in 
stinct  that  she  has.  (A  forest  bird  sings 
joyously  a  little  way  within  the  wood.) 

SHE 

And  Woman  is  like  a  bird?  That  is  a 
lovely  thing  for  you  to  say,  for  birds  have 
wings. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

(She  stops  to  gather  moss  and  shows  it 
to  him.)  See,  it  is  like  a  fairy  forest.  We 
are  like  that  fairy  tale.— We  seek,  we 
know  not  what,  but  there  is  something  in 
this  Wood  for  us  to  find. 

HE 

To  find  and  conquer.  Man  is  a  con 
queror.  ... 

SHE 
And  Woman  ? 

THE  MAN 

(Touching  her  caressingly.) 
She  is  a  slave — 

SHE 

How  do  you  mean  a  slave?  To  Man  or 
Fate? 

HE 

She  is  a  slave  because  she  is  a  woman. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 
SHE 

She  is  a  slave  through  love — but  in  the 
end,  if  she  is  like  a  bird,  her  wings  will 
free  her  .  .  .  See !  A  light  falls  on  the 
path — we  must  be  near  the  edges — near 
that  unknown  country  which  lies  beyond 
the  wood  .  .  . 

HE 

It  is  a  clearing  in  the  forest.  Stop  a 
moment  and  send  the  Nurse  before  .  .  . 
(She  sends  the  Nurse  before.)  Your  hair 
glows  in  this  light  .  .  .  (He  loosens  it  so 
that  it  falls  around  her. )  You  are  the  fair 
est  woman  in  the  world  and  you  are  mine. 
Guard  well  your  beauty,  and  if  we  meet 
with  strangers  in  the  wood,  arrange  your 
veil  so  that  they  may  not  see. 

SHE 

Sometimes  I  tremble  for  fear  that  you 
may  see  a  fairer  woman. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

HE 

Have  you  seen  hair  longer  or  silkier  or 
of  lovelier  colour?  Have  you  seen  eyelids 
longer  lashed?  Or  lips  that  set  a  wreath 
of  whiter  pearls? 

SHE 

Sometimes  I  wish  you  loved  me  for  my 
soul,  not  for  my  beauty  only. 

THE  MAN 

Give  me  your  lips.  I  love  them  best 
when  they  are  silent,  pressed  to  mine.  A 
Woman's  mouth  is  made  for  love, — except 
for  words  of  love,  speech  does  not  matter. 
(They  embrace  and  walking  slowly  they 
come  into  an  opening  in  the  wood. ) 

SHE 

See!  the  brightness  and  the  towers 
which  rise  beyond. 

HE 
It  is  a  Palace  . 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

SHE 
A  Rose  Garden  .   .   . 

HE 

All  is  silent, — I  see  no  person. 

SHE 

But  the  fountain  plays  .  .  . 
(He  calls  and  no  one  answers  .    .    .  He 
knocks  and  no  one  comes.) 

SHE 

Here  is  an  inscription.  .  .  .  See — it  is 
the  House  of  Future.  It  is  that  which  we 
sought  unknowing. — But  the  Master, — 
where  is  he? 

THE  NURSE 

My  Lady,  speak  not  of  the  Master,  lest 
one  may  hear,  I  know  strange  legends  of 
this  place. 

THE  MAN 

Speak  then  if  there  is  somewhat  that 
you  know. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  NURSE 
I  have  heard  legends. 

THE  MAN 

You  have  heard,  and  you  have  heard. 
What  is  it  you  have  heard?  What  is  the 
Master's  name? 

THE  NURSE 

I  cannot  speak  the  name  lest  some  one 
waiteth  near — I  am  afraid. 
He  tries  the  door,  it  opens  freely.    There 

is  no  person  there. — Again  he  calls. — 

There  is  no  sound  but  echo. 

HE 
We  will  enter,  the  Master  is  away. 

SHE 
Do  you  not  think  it  is  prepared  for  us  ? 


SCENE  SECOND. 

The  Lady  with  her  old  Nurse  in  the 
Rose  Garden. 

THE  LADY 

I  wish  my  Lord  would  come.  Have 
you  not  noticed  how  my  beauty  wanes  at 
times  ? 

THE  NURSE 

No — No — My  Lady  is  most  beautiful, 

the  mirror  is  not  true. 

f 

THE  LADY 

My  Lord's  eyes  are  my  mirror, — I  see 
the  waning  there.  Is  it  so  with  all  men, 
that  they  love  beauty  only? 

THE  NURSE 

There  is  a  legend  that  tells  how  in  some 
distant  land  across  the  seas,  there  is  a  race 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

of  men  who  are  not  hunters,  and  who  love 
faithfully  like  women. 

THE  LADY 
I  wish  I  knew  that  land. 

THE  NURSE 
It  is  a  legend. 

THE  LADY 

What  name  have  these  strange  crea 
tures  which  my  Lord  hunts  day  and  night? 

THE  NURSE 

No  rightful  name  that  I  can  speak,  My 
Lady.  Some  call  them  birds  of  pleasure, 
some  birds  of  prey. — They  are  not  really 
birds. 

THE  LADY 

I  wish  my  Lord  would  bring  one  home 
for  me  to  see. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  NURSE 

Oh,  no!  My  Lady,  they  never  bring 
them  home.  When  they  have  captured 
them  they  keep  them  hidden.  They  are 
the  creatures  of  the  dark,  and  lose  their 
beauty  in  the  clear  sunlight. 

THE  LADY 

Tell  me  more  of  them. — You  said  there 
is  a  legend. 

THE  NURSE 

The  legend  tells  that  they  are  creatures 
whose  souls  have  been  destroyed. 

THE  LADY 
How  can  that  be?    Souls  are  eternal. 

THE  NURSE 

I  know  not, — 'tis  what  the  legend  tells. 
The  young  are  beautiful  to  see  and  soft 
to  touch.  Their  beauty  does  not  last  be 
cause  they  have  no  souls. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  LADY 

It  is  only  the  beauty  of  the  soul  that 
lasts. 

THE  NURSE 

The  legend  says.— They  bathe  them 
selves  in  streams  and  lie  among  the 
branches  of  the  trees,  letting  the  long  gold 
tress  that  grows  upon  their  heads  hang 
down  to  dry.  The  legend  says,  it  is  this 
yellow  tress  which  makes  the  Lords  go 
hunting  them. 

THE  LADY 

Why  do  they  live  in  trees?  You  said, 
they  are  not  really  birds. 

THE  NURSE 

Because  they  once  had  wings,  before 
their  souls  were  killed.  I  know  not, — 'tis 
what  the  legend  tells. 

THE  LADY 
Tell  me,  tell  me,  are  they  Women? 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  NURSE 

They  might  have  been  had  they  not  lost 
their  souls. 

THE  LADY 
And  what  becomes  of  them? 

THE  NURSE 

The  legend  says,  that  when  they  lose 
their  beauty  they  steal  away  into  the 
woods  and  die,  or,  if  they  do  not  die,  they 
become  beasts  of  prey  and  destroy  souls. 

THE  LADY 

I  wish  that  I  might  help  them  to  get 
back  their  souls. 

THE  NURSE 

I  have  heard, — it  was  my  grandmother 
who  told  me, — that  once  there  was  a  lady 
who  disguised  herself,  and  lived  among 
them  hoping  to  find  their  souls.  It  is  a 
long  tale,  but  in  the  end,  the  beasts  of  prey 
devoured  her. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  LADY 

I  think  it  may  have  been  that  their  souls 
were  taken  from  them  to  save  them  suf 
fering How  peaceful  it  is  among 

the  roses  in  this  garden Come. 

We  will  walk  in  the  long  corridor.  Each 
day  a  door  swings  open  at  my  touch  that 
was  firm  locked  before.  Each  chamber 
has  been  beautiful.  Some  days  I  fear  to 
enter — they  can  not  all  be  so.  That  door 
of  sandalwood  must  guard  a  treasure,  the 
carving  is  so  fine;  the  hinges  and  the  lock 
are  gold.  Perhaps  the  magic  wand  is 
there.  I  hasten  through  the  other  rooms 
longing  for  this. 

THE  NURSE 

Unless  you  find  the  golden  key  that  fits 
the  lock  you  cannot  enter.  .  .  .  Unless — 
a  little  child  may  take  you  by  the  hand — 
Sometimes  the  key  is  given  to  a  child  .  .  . 
The  magic  wand  is  in  that  chamber. 


SCENE  THIRD 

Several  days  later  in  the  long  corridor. 
The  Lady  Godelaire  and  the  Nurse. 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 

Through  all  the  house  there  is  a  feeling 
that  something-  arrives.  Do  you  not  think 
the  Master  comes  ? 

THE  NURSE 

Ah!  The  Master, — I  have  heard, — one 
never  knows  when  he  is  coming  except  by 
signs  and  omens.  I  too  have  had  the  feel 
ing  that  something  comes — the  cat  has 
washed  herself  three  times  this  day  and 
the  hounds  bayed  in  the  night. 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 

The  hounds  bayed?  That  was  because 
My  Lord  returned.  (She  touches  the  doors 
on  either  side  of  the  corridor  lightly  as  she 
passes. )  I  do  not  know  what  has  come  over 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

me  this  day.  I  have  the  sense  of  someone 
near — and  I  have  heard  a  fluttering  as  of 
wings.  .  .  .  She  touches  another  door, — 
a  narrow  white  door  that  shines — Oh !  .  . 
It  is  this  door  which  opens — a  little  room 
— a  divan  and  a  mirror, — let  us  rest  and 
see  what  happens.  .  .  .  It  is  like  a  room 
where  one  receives.  .  .  .  Listen!  I  hear 
a  sound — it  is  a  little  sound.  .  .  .  There — 
again — Do  you  not  hear. 

THE  NURSE 
No — My  Lady. 

THE  LADY  (Listening) 

It  is  the  crying  of  an  infant.  It  is  shut 
away  somewhere. — Oh !  ...  It  hurts  my 
heart — I  must  go  search  for  it.  ...  Help 
me  to  search.  (She  listens  by  the  wall.) 
It  is  somewhere  through  this  wall.  (She 
searches  along  the  wall.)  Ah!  .  .  .  this 
panel  is  a  door — it  leads  somewhere.  But 
the  cry  is  farther  off.  .  .  .  Help  me  to  find 
the  cry. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  NURSE 

Ah! — My  Lady,  it  is  by  passing 
through  the  torture  chamber  that  you  may 
find  it.  The  cry  is  in  the  place  beyond. 
...  No!  My  Lady!  Do  not  touch  the 
panel !  ...  It  will  open  if  you  touch.  It  is 
the  torture  chamber,  and  they  will  take 
away  your  youth  and  bits  of  your  beauty 
— they  will  tear  away  with  instruments  of 
pain. 

THE  LADY 
Oh !  .  .  .  How  do  you  know  this  ? 

THE  NURSE 

There  are  some  things  one  knows  when 
one  is  old. 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 

What  shall  I  do!  (She  listens— she 
hears  the  cry  again. )  Oh !  there  is  some 
thing  more  than  beauty.  There  is  some 
thing  stronger  than  myself.  .  .  .  it  is  that 
little  cry,  it  has  the  force  to  penetrate  these 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

heavy  walls.  It  cries  to  me,  all  else  is  sil 
ence  beside  that  little  cry  which  is  so 
mighty  that  it  forces  the  entrance  to  my 
soul.  (She  touches  the  panel.) 

THE  NURSE 

My  Lady !  My  Lady !  the  torture !  that 
you  must  bear  alone 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 

It  matters  not.  If  I  return  no  more, — 
adieu.  (She  presses  the  panel,  it  opens 
slightly. ) 

THE  NURSE 

Ah!  My  Lady!  do  you  forget  your 
beauty  and  my  Lord? 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 

The  cry.  .  .  .  It  is  so  little  that  it  over 
whelms  all  things.  (She  pushes  open  the 
panel  and  goes  through.  It  closes  slowly 
after  her.) 


SCENE  FOURTH 

In  the  Rose  Garden. 

The  Lord,  and  the  Lady  Godelaire.  He 
is  about  to  depart  for  the  Hunt  and  holds 
his  hounds  in  leash.  The  Lady  Godelaire 
wears  a  loner  veil  of  lace  that  falls  from 
her  head  and  covers  all  her  form. 

The  sound  of  distant  hunting  horns  is 
heard  throughout  this  scene. 

THE  LORD 

Why  do  you  wear  the  veil  ?  Lay  it  aside 
and  let  you  hair  fall  in  this  light, — I 
would  compare  its  length  and  colour — 
surely  it  is  the  longest.  Remove  the  veil 
so  I  may  see.  ( The  horns  sound  nearer — 
the  hounds  pull  at  the  leash.  The  Nurse 
comes,  bearing  in  her  arms  a  little  child. 
The  Lady  smiles  and  takes  the  little  one 
into  her  arms.) 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  LADY 

See !  See !  My  Lord  .  .  .  She  is  far  love 
lier  than  ever  I  have  been — it  is  the  little 
Ynide. 

THE  LORD 

You  should  have  given  me  a  son  to  bear 
my  name. 

THE  LADY 

But  you  will  stay  and  learn  to  love  her, 
will  you  not? 

THE  LORD 

A  Man  has  other  ways  of  passing  time 
than  nursing  infants.  ( The  child  holds  up 
her  arms  to  him.)  What?  What?  Now 
if  it  were  a  son.  .  .  .  Well !  Well !  when 
she  is  grown  she  may  be  good  to  look  upon 
and  make  some  grand  alliance.  (He 
throws  the  leash  of  his  hounds  to  his  serv 
ant  and  takes  the  child  suddenly  into  his 
arms.  She  cries.  He  gives  her  quickly  to 
the  Nurse  and  goes.  The  hounds  bay  and 
the  blare  of  the  horns  draw  near. ) 


SCENE  FIFTH 

In  the  Rose  Garden.  .  .  .  The  Lady 
Godelaire,  the  Nurse  and  the  little  Ynide. 
The  Lady  Godelaire  is  touching  delicately 
upon  the  strings  of  her  lute  a  pavane  of 
the  moyen  age.  .  .  .  The  Nurse,  after  a 
limping  fashion  is  showing  the  little  Ynide 
the  different  attitudes  of  the  pavane.  .  .  . 
The  Lady  Godelaire  steps  the  dance  as  she 
touches  it  out  upon  the  lute.  .  .  . 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 

See — it  is  a  lesson  Ynide, — hold  up  your 
little  gown  and  try  your  steps.  .  .  .  The 
nurse  dances  coaxingly  before  the  child. 
The  scene  is  charmingly  grotesque.  .  .  . 
The  Lady  Godelaire  laughs  gleefully  as 
the  child  dances  before  the  nurse.  .  . 
She  moves  herself  in  rhythm  with  the  air. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  NURSE 

In  my  youth  I  was  held  in  esteem  as  a 
light  dancer  my  Lady.  I  remember  once 
stepping  the  dance  with  one  of  high  de 
gree. 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 

Indeed,  dear  Nurse  you  are  even  now  a 
brave  dancer.  ...  Is  not  the  child  en 
chanting?  If  my  Lord  were  here,  how  he 
would  love  her  childish  grace.  .  .  . 

THE  NURSE 

Three  times  the  hounds  bayed  in  the 
night.  Something  will  come. 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 

(Pushing  aside  the  lute)  We  have  been 
many  times  mistaken.  .  .  .  (The  child 
flutters  from  rose  to  rose.  .  .  .  The  Lady 
Godelaire  and  the  Nurse  watch  her  intent 
ly,  their  gestures  reflect  those  of  the  child.) 
See  how  she  flies  from  flower  to 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

flower — Ah!  she  would  embrace  the  fra 
gile  things.  .  .  .  The  little  Ynide  runs  sob 
bing  to  the  Lady  Godelaire.  There  is  a 
stain  of  blood  upon  her  hand. 

THE  LADY 

No — do  not  cry — it  was  a  thorn — all 
roses  have  their  thorns.  .  .  .  There,  I  will 
kiss  the  pain  away  and  you  shall  sleep  for 
I  will  sing  to  you.  (She  cradles  the  child 
in  her  arms  and  sings  softly  an  ancient 
lullaby — to  the  air  of  Merlin  au  Berceau. ) 
Dors  done  mon  enfant  mon  enfant  dors 

done. 


SCENE  SIXTH. 

The  same  day — in  the  long  corridor. 
The  Lady  G  ode  lair  e  and  the  Nurse  are 
walking  slowly,  up  and  down. 

THE  LADY 

Always  I  feel  the  sense  of  someone  near 
— of  something  mysterious  in  this  house. 
...  of  things  unknown  ...  of  things 
that  are  not  seen  except  through  vision  of 
the  soul. 

THE  NURSE 

One  does  not  reach  my  age  without 
knowing  that  there  are  things  unseen. — 
Beasts  are  aware.  .  .  .  they  see  the  spirits 
of  the  dead  and  they  see  fearsome  things 
that  walk  at  night  and  hear  them  too.  .  .  . 
Else  why  would  the  hounds  bay  in  the 
night — if  there  were  nothing  near? 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  LADY 

The  hounds  bay — dreaming  of  the 
Hunt.  .  .  .  Ah !  When  my  Lord  returns, 
I  hear  them  far  down  the  forest — herald 
ing  his  approach. 

THE  NURSE 

I  have  heard  legends.  There  is  that 
legend  of  the  owl  that  screeches  in  the 
night  .  .  .  fearsome  it  is. 

THE  LADY 

Listen !  I  thought  I  heard  a  sound.  .  .  . 
(She  pauses  in  front  of  the  door  of  the 
ante  chamber.  It  is  the  little  white  door 
that  shines.)  Listen!  I  thought  ...  I 
thought  I  heard  a  sound.  .  .  . 

THE  NURSE 

Ah!  Something  arrives.  .  .  .  (The 
Lady  Godelaire  listens  at  the  door.  .  .  . 
She  pushes — it  opens  slowly  inward. ) 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 

Ah !  it  is  as  I  thought.  .  .  .  Again  the 
cry.  .  .  .  Do  you  not  hear  ? 

THE  NURSE 

No !  No !  My  Lady !  the  cry  is  not  to  me 
— it  is  not  tuned,  to  me  ...  I  cannot  hear 
it.  (Impatiently.)  Do  not  listen — it  is 
enough — you  saved  the  other. 

THE  LADY 

Oh!  But  it  pierces  through  my  heart. 
(They  enter — she  sits  upon  the  divan — 
she  listens,  she  hears  the  cry. )  .  .  .  Again 
that  torture  chamber  where  all  the  floor 
was  golden  with  my  hair.  .  .  . 

THE  NURSE 

It  is  below  your  shoulders  now,  My 
Lady  and  beautiful. 

THE  LADY 
I  will  send  some  one  to  save  the  child. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  NURSE 

No  one  can  find  the  cry  but  you,  My 
Lady,  no  one  can  hear  but  you. 

THE  LADY 

Again  the  cry.  ...  No  ..  No  ...  I 
will  not  go  ...  I  will  not  listen.  (She 
buries  her  head  in  the  cushions  of  the 
divan,  but  still  she  hears  the  cry.  She  rises 
and  throws  aside  her  veil,  her  hair  falls 
like  a  cloud  around  her — she  looks  into  the 
mirror  .  .  .  )  I  have  regained  my  beauty, 
that  I  lost. 

THE  NURSE 

But  if  you  lose  again  you  will  not,  for 
your  youth  has  gone,  it  will  not  come 
again. 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 

Listen!  Listen!  Can  you  not  hear?  I 
know  the  voice !  It  is  my  son  who  cries  to 
me  to  bring  him  to  the  world ! — She  hur 
ries  through  the  door  of  the  torture  cham 
ber. 


SCENE  SEVENTH. 

At  night.  The  chamber  of  the  Lady 
Godelaire.  She  stands  by  a  long  window 
which  opens  on  a  balcony.  A  gossamer 
veil  of  white  is  all  about  her  like  a  cloud. 
The  moon  shines  on  her.  .  .  .  The  Nurse 
is  on  the  balcony.  Lights  from  below  are 
reflected  on  the  ceiling  of  the  chamber. 

THE  NURSE 

Yes !  Yes !  My  Lady !  It  is  as  I  thought, 
the  Master  has  arrived. 

THE  LADY 
No !  No !  It  is  my  Lord,  I  hear  his  voice. 

THE  NURSE 

There  is  another — do  you  not  hear?  .  . 

a  slow  calm  voice  of  one  who  has  control. 

.  It  is  the  Master  of  the  House.  .   .  . 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

Oh !  hide  yourself,  my  Lady.  I  have  heard 
that  each  time  the  Master  comes  he  takes 
away  a  guest  to  his  great  castle,  and  they 
return  no  more.  .  .  Oh !  there  are  strange 
tales  told,  but  no  one  knows  the  truth  .  .  . 
Some  say  the  castle  is  so  beautiful  they 
will  not  leave  it  and  they  forget,  .  .  .  and 
some,  that  there  are  dungeons  from  which 
none  escape,  .  .  .  dark  dungeons  under 
neath  the  ground — so  narrow  that  they 
can  not  turn. 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 

Be  still — be  still,  and  let  me  hear.  ( The 
reflected  light  of  torches  passes  along  the 
walls  and  ceiling,  a  strange  heavy  sound 
is  heard,  and  voices.) 

A  VOICE 
I  pray  you  give  me  time. 

ANOTHER  VOICE 
You  have  had  time. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  FIRST  VOICE 

I  pray  you  give  me  time  to  bid  the  Lady 
Godelaire  farewell. 

THE  OTHER  VOICE 
You  have  had  years  to  say  farewell. 

THE  FIRST  VOICE 
I  pray  you,  only  a  moment. 

THE  OTHER  VOICE 

My  guests  await  you,  you  must  come 
with  me. 

THE  FIRST  VOICE 

I  pray  you,  I  pray  you,  only  a  moment ! 
I  would  see  the  Lady  Godelaire  to  bid 
adieu — she  will  wait  and  wonder  that  I 
do  not  come. 

THE  OTHER  VOICE 
She  has  waited  and  you  have  not  come. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

FIRST  VOICE — Calling 

Godelaire — Godelaire — Adieu !  Adieu ! 

The  lights  and  shadows  pass  along  the 
ceiling.  There  conies  the  strange  heavy 
sound  again — and  all  is  silent.  .  .  . 

The  Lady  Godelaire  recovers  as  one 
awaking  from  a  dream.  .  .  .  She  rushes 
on  the  balcony  and  cries — Adieu !  Adieu ! 
My  Lord. — She  returns  through  the  win 
dow,  weeping.  Oh!  My  Lord  ...  He 
has  not  seen  his  little  son. 


SCENE  EIGHTH 

Some  years  have  passed.  The  Lady 
Godelaire  talks  with  the  Nurse  in  the  Rose 
Garden;  the  roses  are  withered  and  the 
foliage  sere.  She  stands  gazing  at  the 
withered  garden.  .  .  .  As  she  speaks  a 
light  shines  from  her. 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 

The  little  Ynide,  she  suffered.  Oh,  she 
suffered,  and  when  He  came  He  touched 
her  and  she  smiled  and  went  to  sleep.  He 
took  her  gently  while  she  slept.  Just  for  a 
moment  I  saw  His  face  and  He  seemed 
neither  man  nor  woman,  but  an  Angel. 

THE  NURSE 

It  is  the  second  time  and  each  time  in 
the  night.  The  third  time  that  the  Master 
comes  will  be  for  me.  The  little  one  will 
need  me.  It  may  be  as  you  think,  that  He 
is  kind. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 
I  feel  quite  sure  that  He  is  kind.  The 
little  Ynide  suffered  and  He  took  her  pain 
away.  The  moment  that  He  touched  her 
the  pain  was  gone.  That  moment  I  felt  my 
wings  grow  strong.  I  thought  I  must  go 
with  her,  but  that  I  could  not  leave  my 
son.  (A  light  shines  from  her  as  she 
speaks.)  We  will  ascend  the  stairs  of  the 
high  tower  and  walk  in  the  Blue  Loggia. 

THE  NURSE 
The  stairs  are  steep,  my  Lady. 

THE  LADY 

And  the  Loggia  high  .  .  .  after  the 
dimness  of  the  long  ascent  it  is  as  Heaven 
must  be.  ...  The  blue  light  glows,  and 
afterward  it  stays  with  me. 

THE  NURSE 

It  is  the  light  within  you  that  shines 
out,  my  Lady. 


SCENE  NINTH. 

The  Blue  Loggia. 

The  Lady  Godelaire  and  YniaL  She 
zvears  a  long  black  mantle — there  is  a 
white  band  about  her  brow,  a  white  veil 
falls  about  her,  and  a  light  shines  from  her 
as  she  moves.  All  around  there  is  a  won 
derful  blue  light  that  scintillates.  As  far 
out  as  she  can  see,  there  is  the  wonderful 
blue  light. 

YNIAL 

When  will  you  wear  your  wings  again, 
Mamma  ? 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 
My  wings,  Ynial  ? 

YNIAL 

You  did  not  know  I  saw  you  for  I  came 
softly,  and  then — I  thought  you  were  an 
Angel,  and  I  went  away — I  was  afraid. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 
You  would  not  fear  an  Angel? 

YNIAL 

You  were  different,  Mamma,  your  veil 
had  fallen  off,  and  your  black  mantle.  All 
I  saw  was  wings  and  a  bright  light  that 
shone  from  you.  You  talked  with  some 
one.  .  .  .  Who  was  there,  Mamma?  I 
saw  no  person.  Were  you  praying?  Why 
do  you  wear  the  ugly  mantle?  It  hides 
your  wings, — they  looked  so  soft  and 
beautiful.  May  I  not  touch?  Where  are 
my  wings,  Mamma?  (She  embraces  him.) 
Will  I  not  have  wings? 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 

When  you  are  ready  for  them,  but  first 
you  have  your  quest. 

YNIAL 
What  is  a  quest,  Mamma? 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 
It  is  a  seeking. 

YNIAL 
Shall  I  not  be  a  hunter  ? 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 

A  hunter  after  stars.  It  may  be  that 
a  light  will  shine  for  you,  and  you  will 
seek  and  find. 


SCENE   TENTH. 

On  the  stairs  of  the  high  tower.  The 
Lady  Godelaire  and  the  Nurse. 

THE  NURSE 

My  Lady,  you  should  not  climb  these 
stairs  to  the  Blue  Loggia.  The  steps  grow 
steeper  day  by  day.  My  Lady,  you  are 
too  frail  to  climb. 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 
And  you,  dear  Nurse,  too  old. 

THE  NURSE 

Yes,  my  Lady, — too  old  ...  too  old 
...  I  heard  my  name  called  in  the  night. 
The  Lady  Godelaire  touches  her  lovingly. 


SCENE    ELEVENTH — VISION. 

THE  FLIGHT. 

HER  VOICE 

These  blue  and  amethystine  mists  that 
fall  beneath  us  as  we  cleave  the  air, — what 
are  they? 

THE  ANSWERING  VOICE 

They  are  the  veils  of  Evening  which 
descend. 

HER  VOICE 

Those  shining  piled  up  clouds — are  they 
the  mountains  of  the  Dawn?  That  one 
with  rainbow  coloured  wings  who  passed, 
was  he  an  Angel? 

THE  OTHER  VOICE 
A  winged  soul. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 
HER  VOICE 

I  see  a  shining-  ...  far  up  among  the 
mountains  of  the  clouds.  The  columns 
reach  the  sun.  .  .  .  I  see  towers  beyond 
towers  up-streaking  .  .  .  and  high  arches 
.  .  .  high  arches  lessening  down  the  vista 
of  their  aisle.  .  .  .  Towers  transcendently 
entrancing.  Towers  of  my  dream  woven 
radiant  city  .  .  .  and  those  far  reaching 
dim  islands  of  the  sky  ...  cloud  islands 
of  my  dreams.  My  vision  is  made  whole. 
.  .  .  Every  motion  of  my  wings  enhances 
the  radiance  of  those  towers.  .  .  . 

Towers  of  Enshrinement,  are  they  not? 
May  I  fly  there? 

THE  ANSWERING  VOICE 
There  is  no  limit. 

HER  VOICE 

I  have  no  weariness,  I  am  all  ecstacy 
and  luminous.  I  do  not  need  to  speak, 
only  to  think.  Are  all  the  angels  so? 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

Have  they  one  language  of  the  soul?  I 
was  afraid  to  fly,  but  when  you  touched  me 
all  my  fear  was  gone, — I  could  fly  fast  and 
free.  .  .  .  Ah !  .  .  .  My  memory  comes — 
You  are  the  Master  of  the  House.  .  .  . 
How  strange  I  should  forget — But  with 
my  memory  my  weariness  returns.  .  .  ; 
Where  is  My  Lord  ? 

THE  OTHER  VOICE 

You  will  forget  him,  until  his  soul  has 
gathered  strength  to  waft  his  wings. 

HER  VOICE 

There  is  a  weight  that  pulls  me  down, 
— it  drags  my  left  wing  down.  ...  I  hear 
a  voice  that  calls  to  me.  It  is  the  voice  of 
Ynial.  Where  is  the  little  Ynide? 

THE  OTHER  VOICE 

Where  the  great  shining  is  among  the 
pillars  reaching  to  the  Sun. 

HER  VOICE 
I  hear  the  voice  of  Ynial.     I  will  go 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

back  to  the  Blue  Loggia  and  put  away  my 
wings.    May  I  go  back? 

THE  OTHER  VOICE 

Much  is  given  to  the  souls  of  Mothers. 
I  will  wait  until  you  call  and  come  again 
for  you. 

THE  VOICE  OF  YNIAL 

Mother !  Oh !  I  have  called  and  called — 
and  could  not  waken  you.  ...  I  found 
you  lying  here,  close  to  the  step  that  leads 
into  the  blue.  At  first  I  thought  there 
were  two  Angels — but  there  is  only  you. 
.  .  .  Mother!  You  should  have  been 
awake  to  see.  The  wings  were  shining 
everywhere.  .  .  . 


SCENE  TWELFTH. 

Many  years  have  passed. 
The  Lady  Godelaire  and  Ynial  in  the 
Rose  Garden  by  the  fountain. 

YNIAL 

Mother — I  have  heard  a  voice.  It  called 
to  me  to  come  and  do  my  work.  To  me 
alone  it  called.  .  .  .  Something  is  lost 
which  I  must  find — and  Mother  I  saw  a 
light  that  shone — it  seemed  to  make  a  path 
for  me.  ...  It  was  the  same  light  that  I 
have  seen  shining  from  you. 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 

My  son.  .  .  .  She  presses  her  head 
against  his  shoulder. 

YNIAL 

No — do  not  fear.  I  will  not  go,  I  will 
not  leave  you  here  alone.  My  Mother. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FUTURE 

THE  LADY  GODELAIRE 

You  must  go,  Ynial.  You  have  seen  the 
light  and  you  must  follow  where  it  leads. 
...  I  will  be  there,  Ynial.  .  .  .  Come  to 
the  Blue  Loggia  after  a  little,  and  you  will 
understand.  (She  embraces  him.) 


SCENE  THIRTEENTH 

YNIAL — Alone. 

She  is  not  here.  .  .  .  No.  She  is  not 
here.  .  .  .  Her  mantle — and  her  veil — 
close  to  the  step  that  leads  into  the  blue. 
.  .  .  Ah!  I  understand — it  was  for  me 
she  staid.  .  .  .  Now  I  remember  the  angel 
and  the  light.  She  was  the  Angel — but  I 
did  not  know  because  she  hid  her  wings. 
.  .  .  Now  I  understand.  She  wore  the 
mantle  to  conceal  herself.  .  .  . 

He  gases  far  out  into  the  blue. 

Again  I  hear  the  call.  .  .  .  There  are 
wings  all  about  me.  ...  I  hear.  ...  I 
hear — It  is  more  than  music — and  I  see — 
I  see  the  light.  ...  It  is  herself — She  is 
the  light — and  she  has  gone  to  show  the 
way.  .  .  . 

Chords  of  celestial  music  sound  from 
afar — nearer  and  nearer  they  sound — ab 
sorbing  and  surrounding  all. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LIFE. 


KATHARINE  HOWARD 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LIFE 

Written  February  1910. 
B«uzec— Conq— par  Concarneau,  Bretagne,  France. 

SCENE— EARTH 

An  Old  Person.     A  Young  Person  and 
the  one  with  echoing  footsteps 


THE  HOUSE   OF  LIFE 

TWO   PERSONS.     ONE   OLD  AND   ONE   YOUNG 

THE  OLD  PERSON — says 

No!  No!  My  child,  pray  do  not  enter 
there. 

THE  YOUNG  PERSON 

Oh !  but  I  must,  I  am  compelled,  a  spirit 
leads  me. 

OLD  PERSON 
What  does  the  spirit  say,  my  child? 

YOUNG  PERSON 

The  spirit  says — This  is  the  house  of 
Life — enter,  it  says. 

OLD  PERSON 

Oh !  but  knock  on  the  door  my  child — 
knock  thrice  upon  the  door. 


THE   HOUSE   OF   LIFE 

YOUNG  PERSON 

There  is  no  need  to  knock,  the  door  is 
swinging  open.  Come — enter  you — I 
would  not  be  alone — still,  I  am  not  afraid. 
They  enter. 

OLD  PERSON 

No — do  not  close  the  door — the  en 
trance  is  so  dark.  .  .  .  How  dark  the  hall, 
and  narrow. 

YOUNG  PERSON 

Here  is  another  door,  the  key  is  in  the 
lock.  ...  I  am  afraid !  Let  us  turn  back. 
Oh!  Oh!  I  cannot  see  the  way — the  en 
trance  door  is  swinging1  shut.  .  .  . 

OLD  PERSON 
The  door  has  shut,  we  must  go  on. 

YOUNG  PERSON 

Open  you,  this  door.  The  key  is  rusty 
in  the  lock.  .  How  the  door  creaks. 


THE   HOUSE   OF   LIFE 

OLD  PERSON 

Here  is  a  stairway — let  us  mount.  .  .  . 
See  how  worn  the  steps.  How  many  feet 
have  climbed  them.  .  .  . 

YOUNG  PERSON 

There  is  no  one  now — we  are  alone. 
OLD  PERSON 

I  have  a  strange  weird  feeling — as  if  I 
had  been  here  before,  a  feeling  that  I  can 
not  speak — like  a  foreboding  that  some 
thing  tragic  lies  beyond.  ...  I  wish  we 
had  not  entered  here.  ...  I  wonder — is 
it  a  dream  or  is  it  real.  .  .  .  Here  is  a  tab 
let  in  the  wall — read  you — I  am  too  old,  I 
cannot  see.  .  .  .  What  says  the  tablet  ? 

YOUNG  PERSON 

The  few  go  on — the  many  pause.  There 
are  but  two  ways  now — either  go  up — or 
through  this  door.  .  .  . 

OLD  PERSON 
I  see  no  door. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LIFE 

YOUNG  PERSON 
It  is  a  secret  door  and  hard  to  see. 

OLD  PERSON 
Where  does  the  door  lead — does  it  say? 

YOUNG  PERSON 

No — not  in  words — there  is  an  arrow 
pointing  down.  ...  I  am  afraid — let  us 
go  on. 

OLD  PERSON 

Yes — we  will  climb  these  stairs — these 
stairs  are  little  worn.  ...  Do  you  hear 
footsteps  ? 

YOUNG  PERSON 
They  are  echoes. 

OLD  PERSON 
Listen !  I  thought  I  heard  a  voice.  .  .  . 

YOUNG  PERSON 
Only  the  echo  of  our  own.  .   .   .  Come 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LIFE 

— are   you    tired — the    reason    why   you 
mount  so  slow — so  wearily? 

Now  we  have  reached  the  landing.  See 
what  a  broad  and  sunny  hall! 

OLD  PERSON 

It  seems  quite  pleasant,  but  we  do  not 
know  what  lies  beyond. 

YOUNG  PERSON 

No  need  to  think  of  anything  beyond — 
we  will  stay  here  where  it  is  pleasant.  .  .  . 
Oh !  There  is  a  door  that  looks  as  if  it  led 
into  a  closet.  I  will  open  it  and  see. 

OLD  PERSON 

No!  No!  My  child!  You  frighten  me! 
Open  no  closets  I  pray — I  pray  you  keep 
the  closets  closed — I  would  the  doors  were 
sealed. 

YOUNG  PERSON 
They  may  be  full  of  treasures. 


THE   HOUSE   OF   LIFE 

OLD  PERSON 

It  is  better  not  to  know.  .  .  .  It  is  no 
echo.  I  hear  a  footstep.  .  .  .  There — do 
you  not  hear  it?  Now — it  is  coming 
nearer. 

YOUNG  PERSON 

I  feel  that  I  have  always  heard  it.  ... 
It  comes  for  me.  .  .  . 

OLD  PERSON 

How  long  it  seems  since  we  two  entered 
here.  .  .  . 

YOUNG  PERSON 

Yes,  it  was  long  ago.  You  must  stay 
here  and  rest  for  you  are  tired.  I  will  go 
to  meet  him.  When  you  are  rested  we 
will  return  for  you.  .  .  . 

OLD  PERSON 

It  is  the  echoing  footstep  of  my  fore 
boding.    Always  the  echo.  .  .  .  Do  not  go. 
She  goes  to  meet  him.  They  pass  on  to- 


THE  HOUSE   OF   LIFE 

gether  through  the  house  of  Life.  They 
come  to  a  sunny  window  with  a  broad 
seat — cushioned  soft  and  deep.  .  .  .  He 
says, — Let  us  rest  here. 

SHE 

Yes — we  will  rest  here.  From  this  win 
dow  we  can  see  across  the  valley  to  the 
far  hills. 

HE 

Now  there  are  clouds — dark  clouds — 
and  now  the  rain.  .  .  .  We  can  see  noth 
ing  now — save  through  the  mist 

SHE 

But  we  are  happy — sunshine  or  rain — 
we  are  together. 

HE 

The  cushions  here  are  soft.  We  will 
stay  here.  The  clouds  are  passing.  .  .  . 
How  fertile  the  valley  is. 

SHE 
This  is  a  strange  lovely  room — it  is  full 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LIFE 

of  beauty.  I  will  see  what  is  contains. 
She  wanders  restlessly  about  the  room. 
Here  is  a  picture  in  a  frame  of  gold. 

HE 

What  says  the  picture? 
SHE 

It  is  the  window  scene,  but  far  more 
beautiful. 

HE 

How  can  that  be.  How  can  it  be  more 
beautiful  ? 

SHE 

I  know  not — but  it  is.  ...  It  speaks  to 
me  of  dreams  and  lovely  thoughts.  It 
rests  me  into  happiness.  .  .  .  He  comes 
and  looks  with  her. 

HE 

Yes — it  is  beautiful.  It  is  the  artist's 
soul  that  speaks  to  us.  We  think  his 
thoughts  and  share  his  ecstacy.  What  is 
the  name  across  the  corner — can  you  make 
it  out? 


THE   HOUSE  OF  LIFE 

A  silken  curtain  slowly  draws  before  the 

picture. 

SHE 

I  do  not  like  these  drawing  curtains  and 
these  closing  doors. 

HE 

There  are  few  pictures  on  these  walls — 
they  have  been  taken  down  and  stand  in 
corners — turned  toward  the  wall. 

SHE 

Let  us  go  on — these  drawing  curtains 
please  me  not. 

HE 

The  window  seat  is  pleasant.  Why 
look !  The  curtains  are  drawn  there.  Why 
did  you  close  them? 

SHE 

I  did  not  close  them.  Come  let  us  go. 
We  have  been  a  long  time  here. 

HE 

Let  us  go  on.     How  many  corridors 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LIFE 

there  are — and  all  must  lead  somewhere. 
...  So  many  doors  and  each  one  differ 
ent. 

SHE 

We  will  go  through  this  corridor,  the 
carpet  here  is  softer  for  our  feet — it  must 
lead  to  some  stately  chamber.  .  .  . 

Here  is  the  door — how  fine  the  carving 
is — I  am  half  afraid  of  doors — you  open  it. 
He  opens  the  door  into  the  Hall  of  Mir 
rors. 

SHE 

Oh!  How  enchanting — how  glad  I  am 
we  chose  this  corridor.  .  .  .  Now  I  can  see 
myself  in  every  way.  .  .  .  There  are  closets 
between  the  mirrors — there  must  be  love 
ly  gowns.  I  will  array  myself. 

HE 
No !  No !  You  please  me  as  you  are. 

SHE 
There  is  fascination  in  these  mirrors.  I 


THE   HOUSE  OF   LIFE 

never  looked  so  well  before.     Do  you  not 
think  so? 

HE 

I  see  no  difference.   Let  us  go  on,  there 
is  nothing-  here  but  glitter. 
SHE 

See!  There  is  another  woman — it  was 
not  myself  I  saw — There  is  another !  And 
another !  Fairer  than  I.  They  are  looking 
at  you  from  the  mirrors.  They  seem  to 
know  you.  Who  are  these  women? 

HE 

I  see  no  woman  there  but  you.  .  .  .  But 
there  are  men. 

SHE 

The  reflections  of  yourself.  .  .  .  The 
hall  seems  full  of  people.  They  are  reflec 
tions  of  the  people  who  have  looked  into 
these  mirrors.  .  .  . 

HE 

The  reflections  of  our  other  selves. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LIFE 

SHE 

How  cloudy  the  mirrors  grow — a  mist 
has  come  upon  them. 

HE 

Come  away.  I  do  not  see  you  in  the 
mirrors  now.  I  see  a  woman  old  and  worn. 

SHE 

Let  us  go  quickly.  I  am  so  tired  of 
mirrors.  I  wish  there  were  no  mirrors 
in  the  world.  See !  .  .  .  there  are  cobwebs 
hanging  from  the  frieze.  I  am  afraid. 
Why  did  we  come  into  this  hall.  I  wish 
that  you  had  chosen  some  other  corridor. 

HE 

There  is  no  one  here,  and  yet  I  feel  as 
if  we  pushed  our  way  among  a  crowd.  Is 
it  so  with  you? 

SHE 

Yes,  yes — give  me  your  hand  and  let 
us  hasten.  These  are  dead  pleasures — the 


THE   HOUSE   OF   LIFE 

struggling  ghosts  of  long  dead  pleasures 
— trying  to  bar  our  pathway.  ...  I  hear  a 
sound  of  weeping.  Ah,  me!  I  hear  the 
voice  of  a  young  child.  This  is  a  house 
of  grief.  I  wish  the  entrance  door  had 
been  thrice  barred  against  the  time  I  en 
tered  here.  .  .  .  Those  women  were  so  fair. 
They  seemed  to  know  you. 

HE 

All  this  is  fantasie— a  spell  has  come 
upon  you. 

SHE 

Alas !  There  is  no  other  door — we  must 
return  through  the  dead  pleasures  and 
the  misty  mirrors.  Let  us  go  quickly.  .  .  . 
Those  women  beckon  you.  Let  us  go 
quickly  from  this  place.  .  .  .  They  pass 
back  through  the  jcarved  door  Into  the 
corridor.  The  door  closes  silently  behind 
them.  They  come  to  a  gothic  archway  and 
go  through  into  the  place  of  Meditation. 
There  is  absolute  silence.  After  a  time  a 
sound  comes  out  of  the  silence. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LIFE 

SHE 

Listen !    Do  you  not  hear  ?    It  is  far  off. 
HE 

No — it  is  near.  It  is  like  the  wind  in  a 
great  forest.  ...  Or  like  the  rhythm  of  the 
surf. 

SHE 

It  is  like  the  song  of  birds  in  the  spring 
time  of  the  World.  ...  It  rests  me  after 
the  bewilderment  of  mirrors.  .  .  .  These 
gothic  arches  are  all  one  with  the  sound. 

HE 

They  are  the  overcurving  branches  of 
forest  avenues.  The  roof. 

SHE 

It  is  too  much  of  ecstasy — it  cannot  last. 
(The  music  grows  more  solemn  and  ma 
jestic.  .  .  .  It  is  a  funeral  march.) 

Always  this  suggestion  in  the  house  of 
Life.  .  .  .  There — it  is  over,  it  seemed  a 
thousand  years. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LIFE 

HE 

It  was  because  we  heard  the  echoes  of 
the  aeons  since  Time  began.  The  Funeral 
March  of  Time  passing  to  Eternity.  .  .  . 
The  light  grows  dim.  They  go  out  and  the 
doors  clang  shut  behind  them. 

SHE 

Why  can  we  never  stay — why  must  we 
be  forever  moving  on — why  must  we  leave 
the  pleasant  places? 

HE 

Where  are  the  others  who  have  gone 
before? 

SHE 

Here  is  a  door  with  writing  on  it.  Do 
not  hurry — let  me  look — (She  reads — The 
Closet  of  the  Secrets — Open  Not — She 
turns  the  key — the  door  opens  slowly  in 
ward  of  itself — He  tries  to  draw  her  away 
but  she  will  look.  .  .  .  She  clings  to  him 
pale  with  fright. )  Ah,  me !  Ah,  me !  Why 


THE   HOUSE   OF   LIFE 

did  I  ever  live  to  know  such  horror!  .  .  . 
She  told  me  not  to  look — she  must  have 
known — and  you  ?  You  knew  and  yet  you 
live  ?  Are  all  the  closets  full  of  horror  ? 

HE 

I  am  a  man — and  strong,  all  men  must 
know. 

SHE 

Where  is  the  woman  who  entered  here 
with  me?  So  long  ago  it  was,  I  left  her 
there  to  rest.  ...  I  had  forgotten  her.  Take 
me  to  her. 

HE 

You  had  forgotten  her?  .  .  .  Who  was 
she? 

SHE 

Take  me  to  the  place  where  I  left  her. 
The  doors!  It  may  be  that  the  doors  are 
barred.  They  find  their  way  back  to  the 
place  where  she  had  left  the  woman.  She 
is  not  there. 


THE   HOUSE   OF   LIFE 

HE 

It  is  so  long  ago.     Where  can  she  be? 

SHE 

The  secret  door  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
She  may  have  gone  that  way.  .  .  .  Yes 
here  it  is — it  has  been  opened — she  has 
gone  this  way.  She  opens  the  door — it 
opens  hard.  .  .  .  A  cold  mist  rises  that 
chills  them  both  with  dread.  .  .  .  They  see 
only  a  few  steps  leading  down  and  all  be 
low  is  dark.  .  .  .  An  invisible  something 
rushes  past  them  through  the  open  door 
— the  house  is  filled  with  muffled  footsteps 
and  whispering  voices. 

SHE 
Close  the  door.     Oh!    Close  it  quickly. 

HE 

But  the  voices  and  the  footsteps — we 
cannot  drive  them  back  to  the  place 
whence  they  came — already  the  house  is 
filled  with  them. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LIFE 

SHE 

Oh  why  did  I  forget.  How  long  ago  it 
seems — how  tired  she  must  have  grown 
of  waiting.  How  kind  she  was — now  I 
remember  when  it  is  too  late. 
— They  cannot  close  the  door,  and  chilled 
with  the  damp  mist,  they  climb  the  stairs 
again.  The  steps  grow  steeper  as  they 
struggle  up.  No  corridors  entice  them — 
they  keep  on  until  they  reach  the  roof  of 
the  house.  As  they  go  up  the  doors  clang 
shut  behind  them — there  is  no  going  back. 

HE 

What  now  ?    The  night  is  dark. 
SHE 

I    see   a   star.  .  .  .  Look!    There   are 
many  stars. 
They  wait  upon  the  roof. 


A  RHAPSODY 

Written  in  Florence,  Whitsuntide,  1912. 


KATHARINE  HOWARD 


A  RHAPSODY 

The  Spirit  of  the  Future  took  the  Poet 
by  the  hand  and  walked  with  him.  .  .  . 
They  walked  along  the  edges  of  the  tides 
in  the  shadow  of  great  cliffs  until  they 
came  to  the  Place  of  Caverns — and  they 
went  into  that  cavern  where  the  echoes  of 
the  Past  were  sleeping.  .  .  .  The  Spirit 
said, — tread  lightly  that  we  may  not  wake 
these  echoes  before  they  are  refreshed. 
It  is  not  time  to  wake  them,  it  is  the  early 
dawn.  There  are  great  things  to  do,  and 
if  we  wake  them  they  will  disturb  us  with 
complainings — they  need  to  sleep  until  the 
light  is  strong  so  they  may  see  to  find  their 
places  in  the  Harmony. 

And  so — because  the  time  was  not  yet 
come  to  wake  the  echoes  of  the  Past — the 
Poet  walked  in  silence — but  he  thought 


A  RHAPSODY 

great  thoughts — and  when  the  silence 
overpowered  him  he  expressed  himself  in 
sculpture  or  painted  beauty  which  revealed 
his  soul. 


Again  the  Poet  walked,  and  after  wan 
dering  through  the  night  he  came  to  the 
place  where  the  Queen  of  Dawn  sat  on  a 
hill — around  her  were  the  girls  of  Morn 
ing — burnishing  and  braiding  the  gold 
strands  of  her  hair.  .  .  . 

Down  in  the  valley — the  simple  people 
said, — it  is  sun-fire  that  burns, — but  to  the 
Poet,  knowledge  was  given  by  the  desire 
for  beauty — and  he  alone  of  all  men  knew 
it  was  the  shining  of  her  hair.  .  .  .  From 
looking  at  the  bright  strands  of  her  hair 
streaking  the  mists  of  Dawn — he  grew  a 
keener  vision — he  saw  halos  around  the 
heads  of  Mothers  and  their  children — and 
wings  that  drooped  from  shoulders  of 
young  maidens — and  youths  who  wore 
their  swords  of  destiny  sheathed  on  in 


A  RHAPSODY 

chastity.  .  .  .  Deep  in  the  eyes  of  old  men, 
he  could  read  the  broader  knowledge 
which  they  had  of  Life — the  gracious 
charity  and  insight  which  their  years  had 
given  them  in  judging  the  affairs  of  youth. 


It  was  Whitsuntide,  and  the  Poet  walk 
ed  the  streets  of  a  great  city.  The  peo 
ple  were  crowded  and  pressed  together 
everywhere  and  all  the  air  was  full  of  par 
ticles  of  unclean  dust. 

Around  the  city  there  was  a  circle  of 
green  hills  and  there  were  trees  and 
brooks  and  many  flowers — but  when  the 
Poet  looked  he  saw  no  people  there, — and 
while  he  wondered,  a  little  child  came  to 
him  and  took  his  hand  and  walked  with 
him  among  the  crowd.  They  walked  to 
gether  a  long  way, — so  that  the  child's 
hand  grew  warm  in  his,  and  beat  with  the 
same  pulse. 

They  came  before  a  vast  cathedral  and 
the  little  child  pulled  at  his  hand  and  led 


A   RHAPSODY 

him  in.  ...  There,  in  a  great  space  in  the 
centre,  walled  about  with  glass,  were  many 
priests  in  vestments  made  of  cloth  of 
gold  and  wrought  with  precious  gems, 
— and  one  priest  sat  on  high  before  them 
with  all  his  garments  spread  in  a  great 
giory  and  on  his  head  a  jeweled  crown. 
Wreaths  of  incense  arose  from  swinging 
censers  and  myriads  of  candles  burned.  .  . 
The  priests  bowed  themselves  in  curious 
fashion  and  moved  about  continually,  and 
as  they  moved  a  flood  of  music  filled  the 
place  and  rolled  among-  the  arches  and 
possessed  his  soul  with  beauty.  .  .  .  Time 
was  as  nothing — and  when  he  looked 
again  ...  it  may  have  been  a  thousand 
years  .  .  .  the  little  child  was  gone — the 
music  ceased — and  while  he  looked  upon 
the  bowing  vestments — there  came  a  sense 
of  vacancy  and  he  looked  closer  and  saw 
that  they  were  empty — there  was  no  life 
no  soul  in  them — they  were  nothing  but 
empty  vestments  that  moved  themselves 
from  habit.  .  .  .  And  he  went  out  again 


A  RHAPSODY 

into  the  street  searching  his  lost  illusion 
and  the  little  child. 


Again  the  Poet  walked — unconscious 
of  surroundings, — for  he  was  thinking 
deeply. 

He  walked  until  there  came  to  him  a 
feeling  of  great  rest  .  .  .  sweet  odours 
soothed  his  senses  and  the  air  was  fresh. 

He  paused  to  look  upon  the  world  and 
found  that  he  had  climbed  a  mountain, 
and  yet  he  had  the  sense  of  rest.  ...  He 
remembered  that  somewhere  in  a  moun 
tain  dwelt  the  spirit  of  Eternal  Youth. 

Far  down  within  the  valley  he  saw  the 
city  shining  in  a  golden  mist, — her  domes 
and  towers  fantastically  grouped — and  all 
the  unclean  dust  that  rose  from  her, 
touched  into  beauty  by  the  magic  of  the 
sun. 

The  while  he  thought  upon  this  thing 
and  wondered, — there  came  the  longing 


A  RHAPSODY 

for  that  young  boy  whose  hand  had  been 
so  warm  in  his. 

And  while  he  thought,  two  girls  came 
running,  and  pointing  to  the  city,  called, 
— behold  the  beauty  that  shineth  far  be 
low!  We  are  the  slaves  of  a  young  boy 
and  can  not  go.  . . .  Down  in  the  city  where 
the  beauty  is, — his  enemy  awaits  to  slay 
him. 

Is  he  the  spirit  of  Eternal  Youth?  the 
Poet  asked. 

Yes,  but  he  sleeps, — they  answered, — 
and  so  we  gaze  upon  the  city  where  we 
long  to  go. 

Show  him  to  me, — the  Poet  said. 

And  when  he  looked  upon  the  sleeping 
boy,  he  recognized  him  for  the  same  who 
walked  with  him,  that  Whitsuntide,  the 
streets  of  the  great  city. 


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